


two halves of one destiny

by made_of_lions_and_wolves333



Series: Blended Melodies of Dark & Light [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, Immortality, Jealous Merlin (Merlin), mergana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/made_of_lions_and_wolves333/pseuds/made_of_lions_and_wolves333
Summary: Of course Morgana was alive. Should he truly have been that surprised?They meet up somewhere, and fight and forgive. Over and over. They remain casual enemies while becoming lovers on and off for years...[ Future Fic AU. Mergana. ]





	1. I

If this world were in perfect order, Merlin would had been set free of all strands Destiny had bound him with. Arthur would had survived Mordred’s attack, and _he_ wouldn’t be so riddled with guilt over it. Then maybe, Morgana would’ve been able to rest in peace for once, forever relieved of her lifetime sufferings.

Though just within a year of Arthur’s passing, _she_ was the one there facing him. The fair and fearsome Lady Morgana had endured her wounds that should had been lethal, suddenly making a grand reappearance in his routine upon the night of Samhain.

And _gods_, how Merlin wanted to hate her. He wanted to hold his ground and shout. He wanted to leave her there to rot, with a promise of revenge; however they both knew that wasn’t really supported by his moral code either.

But _of course_ Morgana was alive.

(Should he truly have been _that_ surprised? Merlin had underestimated her capabilities once before. It was certainly a mistake _no one_ should repeat twice.)

And _of course _she had the wits to plan two steps ahead of Mordred the entire time, and on the eve of the Final Battle, she had used an old secret spell to split herself into two identical Morganas — and while Merlin had forced himself to kill her walking-double unknowingly, the real her had already fled to the Shores of Avalon, until Arthur’s passing was confirmed. 

So, in 1885, was when they finally fucked for the first time.

Even then, their exchange was brisk, still edgy with a blend of emotions. She had criticized him a bit more, goading him, and in that moment, Merlin wished he could’ve driven a blade into her belly all over again.

They sparred vocally, danced in circles and invaded each other’s personal space. Both of them sensed that it very well could’ve escalated to using some magic against each other in between insults.

The energy simmered around them like it always had since the day he poisoned her. It made her room grow heavy and thick with a supernatural-moody tension. A bolt of green lighting struck the tree outside. The window behind him _cracked!_ as Merlin had heaved in another breath.

Then Morgana suddenly pressed against him, swiftly and tightly, shoving him backwards and they fall onto the plush bear rug beneath their feet. His hands threaded through her dark curtain of hair, grabbing fistfuls.

She obviously detested the hold he had over her mind and heart— just as much as he hated how she could make his body begin to sweat and want when no one else was there to see it or stop it. 

They were even. Canceled out.

They fought again months later…

Because she was angry, _fuming_, overly-fatigued and plagued by constant nightmares again.

She threw a porcelain plate at his feet for extra measure. He didn’t say anything even as the plate shattered around him, which just made her unyielding in all her thorniness.

A layer of frost magically bloomed around them, crackling along the floor, climbing up the walls and spreading over the piano.

He surged forward then, unafraid, letting his thumb land on her bottom lip, lowering to her chin. 

He still whispered an apology to her, though.

He _was_ indeed sorry then, always very sorry. He was to blame, just much as she was. But he hated how she ever came to hate him. He hated how he betrayed her trust when it really mattered. He hated how his heart ached whenever she was that close to him. 

They forgave the situation, and fucked again.

It was a shared habit. They met up somewhere and fought, and forgave, and then fucked. Over and over and over, it happened. They remained casual enemies whilst becoming sporadic lovers, on and off for several decades straight. 

Although one night, it had changed completely. Their most recent (their last) fight was bad, arguably the worst one yet. And well, _that_ was the fight that made Morgana call it quits — all of it — she wanted to quit him, quit Destiny if she could. 

_“... Morgana, all I ever had is faith in Arthur. I can’t just ignore that like you do.”_

"_Good gods, Merlin, it always comes back to Arthur! Don’t you have a mind of your own that doesn’t revolve around what he had, or may think of you now?" _

_"It was my vow to him, to be there. Always. And I’m loyal to my friend, my brother. I will not give up on him, no matter what you say.”_

He had stalked out of the room first that night, letting her cry and watching him go. And in the morning, when he returned to face her to express his regret again, she was already gone without a trace. Just gone.

So, Merlin had tried moving on too, without her that time. He tried moving on for good. But naturally it was harder than he would have liked to admit out loud.

(Wasn’t it painfully _funny_ how lonely and hollow eternity could feel again the moment you immediately lose the one only companion who was able to understand and could face eternity with you?)

Still, Merlin had tried finding love after Morgana. He tried to allow is heart to open up to any person that seemed intrigued and willing for a little while. Whoever needed a friend, a helping hand, or a confidant. He adopted the role of the Obliging Civilian just passing through town, doing what he could to spread some comfort and cheer to others while he could.

* * *

Now, Merlin didn’t exactly know what the hell he was doing here in New York City. All because of a little _book_?

Yet, he noted that New York had been one place Morgana had always planned on visiting sometime in the future after the Industrialist Movement had boomed. It was also the same place she had gotten her novel published.

Overall though, he missed her. He can no longer deny that. He _wanted_ to see her. 

Using his special magic-radar the day before, he eventually managed to spot what had to be Morgana’s classy black Cadillac parked outside of a luxury apartment complex. It had her magical imprint written all over it. The car was _made_ by her, and _not_ purchased from a dealership. 

He waited a couple days to confront her head-on. Got a hotel room to rent in Brooklyn for a reasonable price and he unloaded his things. Explored the giftshops, visited a Wiccan Book Fair event for the hell of it. Yesterday he had encountered a darling waitress from the local diner. She had slipped him her phone number on a napkin right before he thanked her and exited the booth. (_If you should need a private tour guide while staying in New York -- Nancy _). Nancy was all kind giggles, big doe brown eyes, blonde curls pulled back by a green silk ribbon. 

That folded-up napkin was still tucked into his back pocket as he took in a deep breath and knocked on Morgana’s door, _No.13_, third floor.

He soon heard the tapping of heels on wood floors and the door swung open, letting them stand eye to eye.

It was like experiencing a series of flashbacks, but still, his heart leapt at the mere sight of her.

Her hair had obviously been straightened. She wore a fitted, satin white V-neck dress that stopped at her knees. It was just the _reality_ of him being there, in front of her — it was sort of like when mortals see their favorite celebrity’s face on the billboard every day, but they suddenly get all flustered and awkward meeting them in person. 

“… Hey,” he offered her, unnecessarily. And instantly her expression changed from slight curiosity, simply wanting to know who was knocking at first… to a chilly, disbelieving wide-eyed stance. She totally froze, until he shifted on his feet uneasily. “Uh. May I come in?”

“No,” she said on impulse. “I — we were actually, just on our way out.”

“Oh.”

As soon as she told him this, a handsome stranger approached the doorway too, asking her who it was. Morgana hesitated for another second.

“Henry, this is my— this is Merlin. He’s just an old childhood friend of mine, you could say.”

Henry’s presence looming behind her caused Merlin to grow increasingly uncomfortable in a way he wasn’t ready for. He began to self-reflect rapidly, remembering how pleasant and nonhazardous Nancy looked. She would’ve been a safer, less stressful choice than attempting _this_ again, right? 

(Though, no. Bless Nancy for trying, for taking a shot at him. But she wouldn’t be the _first_ person he always thought of every single morning. She wasn’t his equal chosen by Destiny, the Darkness to his Light, the hatred to his lo — )

Henry just held out a hand, inquiringly, waiting. “Hey there, Marvin,” and it yanked Merlin’s train of thought back on track. “Can we help you with anything?”

Merlin returned the handshake swiftly. “No. Forgive me for intruding. I know this is sudden… but I just moved into the area actually and thought I’d say hi. That’s all. To be fair, I really didn’t say anything to her before now. My mistake. And um— my name’s _Merlin_.”

“Oh, okay. I get it,” Henry grinned. “Like in _Harry Potter_.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Henry couldn’t see the peeved rolling of Morgana’s eyes, and Merlin struggled to suppress a knowing smirk in return. But he waved them both goodbye, half-reluctantly. “Well, anyway… I should go and let you two be on your way. Sorry, again.”

He’d taken exactly six steps in the opposite direction when Morgana abruptly called out to him by name. He turned in anticipation, staring at her from down the hall. 

“I’m free at 8 o’clock tomorrow night,” she informs him. “Meet me at the Brickstone Café down the block if you want to talk.”

Of course she wouldn’t just _ask_ him. She’d tell him how it should go, on her terms, the time and place. Such a princess. Such a demanding little demon. That was Morgana, though; the very Morgana he had fallen for.

He nodded with a minor salute, for nostalgia’s sake.

“Whatever you say, Milady.”

* * *

Merlin sipped at his tea, hoping that it might do the trick and settle his anxiety. The table he had selected ten minutes ago, was small and secluded in the far left corner. There was a red-bricked fireplace acting as a barrier between him and the other occupied tables. Merlin obviously chose it for the privacy.

Yet, he nearly jumped out of his skin the moment he saw her entering the café with a stiff spine and her chin lifted high. There was no happy greeting on her part, and no insults. Just a _lot _of questions dancing in her eyes as she lowered herself into the chair across from his with well-practiced grace.

Although tonight she came wearing black tights with a dark grey, baggy knitted sweater. Her hair seemed braided in a rush. She _was_ naturally beautiful with or without makeup, but it was a noticeable contrast to how she was dolled up the night before, with Henry, and for some reason, that little detail bothered him just a little more.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded simply (but, also apprehensively). Her tone was now dangerously on edge. She wanted to keep herself restrained and in control of her words, perhaps dreading that she may actually cause a scene in public here.

“I read your novel,” he started, not overthinking it.

“Oh. I see. That’s why?”

“I just… wanted to see you again, in person. And I want to know _why _you wrote it?”

“You’re supposed to write about what you know, right?” She shrugged. “You told me that how many times when you were busy scribing down Arthur’s timeline?”

His face lit up a little. “You listened to me? You remembered that?”

“I’ve _always _listened to you, Merlin. I just don’t always agree with what you have to say.”

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling at her clear jab of irony. And silence fell over him, before he landed on a new relevant topic. “So… Henry seems nice. Classy. Handsome.”

“He is. And he’s really good at his job, as a publishing agent I hired.”

“Oh, you are colleagues. Last night, I just assumed—”

“— It was just dinner. Nothing that exclusive. He’s dating another girl from his office anyway at the moment. Marcy. I haven’t been in the mood to be looking for a date at all otherwise.”

“Why not?” Merlin’s foot shifted under the table and he automatically leaned in, slightly.

She blinked at him, “It’s…,” then she glanced down at her hands, “it’s none of your business why not….”

“Well, _I_ almost got married earlier this year.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, while I was staying back in London. Her name was Fran, short for Frances-Marie.”

“That’s, uh — wow. Did she — did she even _know _about us? I mean, if she was marrying you?”

He nodded. “She didn’t take it well, and that’s putting it lightly. We cut our losses. Leaving was for the best. ”

“So, you just left? You left things as they were?"

“Hmmhm.”

Morgana suddenly burned with a passion, visibly disgruntled. “But, what if she tells someone, Merlin? What if she just goes scampering around and — ?”

“— She won’t. I guarantee it. She won’t say anything to anyone. She might not understand magic, and, she may want _nothing_ to do with that part of me now. But she’s not Uther.”

“But we’ve seen it before. It doesn’t take much for a drizzle to become a rainstorm.”

“How is this different from you writing your novel?”

“Because it _is _a novel, as far as they are concerned. People read it as a story and nothing else. Nothing that is real. You... you put the information out there in the real world and just expected it to be okay and forgotten!”

With that, his own hand slid across the table, his thumb stroking hers. “It is okay, Morgana. I’m here.” It was surprisingly easy to do, like they haven’t missed a beat and the familiarity was there, still lingering under the surface.

“For how long?”

“For as long as you need me.” (It’s a trivial, tacky response to a serious conversation, and they both hear how ridiculous it sounds.)

Simultaneously, Merlin tried not to laugh at himself while Morgana merely scoffed. “Gross. I think we have way more fun when you’re angry with me.”

* * *

After their peculiar, tense, yet somewhat _civil_ reunion at the café had concluded itself, Morgana relented and agreed to exchange phone numbers with Merlin, just so that he could stop stalking her around town, and she could _keep tabs_ on him since he had suddenly moved into her territory.

Merlin called her first thing that morning, asking to take her out for dinner just once, for now, to see where it goes. As acquaintances. She figured this meant that it would be a very no-pressure and lowkey sort of relaunch.

She rolled back onto her pillows with a hoarse sigh, responding with, “You’re already abusing the power I gave you. Next time, wait till _after_ dawn to call.”

“_Sorry, I was up all night. May I come by your flat at 7 o’clock?_”

“… Fine.”

“_Splendid_.”


	2. II

In 1989, Merlin had Karla, for a time.

He’d first met Karla one morning, sitting next to her on a bus that was heading down to Liverpool. She was a thriving stage actress at the time, and he had been trying to get his first original manuscript of _La Vie du Roi Arthur _published.

Thus if asked, Merlin would’ve preferred to say that those ten months spent with Karla became his saving grace after getting his heart repeatedly broken by “the same woman” over the past few years — or, perhaps, Karla had caught his deeper interest solely because her appearance and mannerisms reminded him somewhat of _Freya_ instead.

(He definitely wasn’t hung up on Morgana anymore… )

What Merlin remembered (liked) most about Karla was, even though she was a tomboy at heart, she still smiled and blushed very prettily. And she always laughed at his clumsy attempts at telling jokes — jokes that would have made Arthur roll his eyes in annoyance or would make Gwen grimace with embarrassment. Finally, Karla would regularly bring him a small pail of ice-cream plus two spoons every Saturday — and sometimes, she would wear his jacket in public.

Though regrettably, their fleeting romance didn’t grow strong enough legs to stay standing.

How it ended:

Her blouse was being unbuttoned, and she started to shimmy out off her jean skirt. He tugged off his shirt next, and they were on her bed, kissing, hips matching up and hands wandering, and — and then, Karla’s palm had pressed against his chest, pushing him up, promptly killing the whole mood.

It had happened so fast, that it seemed as though the world around them skidded to a halt. She scooted back to the headboard with a frown on her face and she hugged her knees, just leaving him dazed.

“... What is it?”

“I think we should stop,” she suggested flatly. “You should just go.”

"Sorry. But I thought you — ”

“Yeah,” she nodded, voice sharp, “well, I thought so too, but clearly you don’t want it. You don’t want it with me.”

“Did I miss something?”

“Look, maybe it’s partly my fault here. Maybe I put pressure on you, too. I thought you’ve moved on from your past relationship. And, maybe — I took advantage of that. It might not be my place to judge the whole situation, since you refuse to talk about her in great detail — so I don’t know everything. But, I will say that you still have some major issues to work through in that area if you just say her name in bed without realizing you even said it. I just don’t think I can see past that now. Okay? So, I think it’d be best that nothing else happens.”

(He didn’t know what to say to that. He never did come up with a good excuse then.)

“Karla, I didn’t mean to — ”

“I know, I get it. I know you didn’t mean it. Just — just don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

* * *

Four years later, Merlin had met Cindy sightseeing in Marseilles (_lasted three months there_). Thirdly, Janice while visiting Wales again (_almost six months there_).

* * *

Then, most recently, it was Francis-Marie. Fran, who he had almost considering _marrying _after moving back to London.

From the start, Merlin had been fully aware that their vows wouldn’t last _forever_, for more reasons than one obviously; he just hadn’t counted on the whole thing ending as _soon_ as it had.

What went wrong there:

Fran came to know about his magic, two days after he had formally proposed to her. Yup. As in, he was caught in the act of magically piecing her favorite coffee mug back together after he’d broken it on accident — 

He attempted the more responsible, logical approach… by sitting her down in private and began explaining himself as easily as he _could_ possibly explain himself in basic modern terms.

Well, though, instead of _trying_ to remain supportive or sympathetic since they’d officially had ‘the talk,’ something in Fran’s mood shifted gears entirely. She soon took up smoking again because of it, then ultimately became the living female version of Darrin Stephens. Fran had wanted so badly to be normal; a traditional mother who would raise their future children as Roman Catholic. She had waited her entire life to find a decent guy to settle down with.

That was a dream totally shattered on impact, all because he, her new fiancé — “Colin M. Emmrys” — possessed magic. 

The harmony between them started to unravel at the stitching right after.

They argued more and more about their differences in religion and political opinions too regularly, too greatly.

So, eventually one night, Merlin left the brownstone in a huff, giving Fran more time to dwell on those things at her own pace, on her own. He, similarly, needed time to water down his rising temper.

He ended up wandering around the streets of upper London, when, he stumbled across the name **_Morgan Lefay_** popping out to him — through a book store’s front window. And in a flash he stepped inside the store, enthralled to have a closer inspection. There were twenty-four copies of the same novel, with Morgana’s unmistakable profile picture on the back cover.

Her novel titled, _The Seed of the Incubus_, was printed across the front in a fancy English-Gothic font. The main illustration below, was a watercolor-like drawing of a beastly man with leathered wings and pointed ears, and a splash of red in his eyes, climbing atop a sleeping young woman seemingly helpless and unaware of the creature’s lustful gaze.

Understandably, Merlin used his last bit of pocket money to purchase a copy straightaway, stuffing the novel inside his jacket to protect it from the daily rain until he got home.

Fran was already in bed upstairs when he returned later on, sleeping with the door closed. Merlin stayed up most of the night, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and skimming through the pages from start to finish.

Morgana’s novel told the tragic tale of a common mortal woman (Helga), who had been magically sedated and then assaulted by a nameless Faerie-Incubus creature upon a late Midsummer’s Eve. Helga, innocently, only had been stargazing out in her father’s cornfield when the mischievous creature spotted her from the sky above. Next, the reader got to follow along with Helga through her mysterious pregnancy and her labor months later. She gave birth to a boy. The son, who was named “_Marlin_,” was depicted as a quiet boy. He looked like other children, almost normal in character and appearance, save for the part where he developed certain magical gifts on his third birthday. Helga tried to raise Marlin as discreetly and as ordinary as possible, merely to avoid the rising suspicions of the village leaders. Though things obviously grew more and more complicated as Marlin clearly decided that magic was a part of who he was, no matter what his family had hoped for.

The novel came to a steady close with Marlin coming of age and leaving the small-minded village behind him. He finally moved on to have his own adventures elsewhere. The anticipated epilogue, even explained that Marlin did not regret leaving, for he actually had found true love. He ended up marrying the daughter of a very powerful witch, therefore, it meant that he was accepted into another family that all embraced magic alongside him.

(Oh, the hidden symbolism and those finer details there were not lost on Merlin. No way. The overly-accurate description of the old common villages… and of the ignorant townspeople…. The way the story had unfolded so specifically, until Marlin was free to be true to his nature, and eventually was blessed with practicing magic with a lover who understood and supported it the most.)

Needless to say, Merlin had tossed Morgana’s novel into the trash after he had finished it, just so that _Fran_ wouldn’t get paranoid about its presence in the brownstone.

It had left him feeling irked, embarrassed, yet gratified in a way. To think, after all those years, Morgana grew into such a romantic sap that she’d written a novel vaguely (clearly) based on him, his birth, and even their own romance that came with a very clichéd happily-ever-after ending and all.

* * *

Merlin spent another month after that deciding if he was either, truly flattered by this gesture, or whether it should had worried him more? Was Morgana actually challenging him? Teasing him? Was this her new way of just trying to rub it in or something?

Though ultimately, he made a drastic move. He broke off his engagement with Fran, packed his bags, and had bought a one-way-trip plane ticket to New York City, North America that same week.

* * *

Merlin had always known his bond with Morgana her was, _questionable_ — that’s the kindest word he could use at the moment. They were so tangled up in each other in the past, the future, and could read each other so well that it was honestly quite terrifying whether it was magic, or not.

But, one foolish habit of his clearly hadn’t changed since he courted her last; in which Merlin still caught himself obsessing over the smaller details instead of examining the bigger picture in front of him.

He had showered, dressed himself for their night out… then stopped to undress, suddenly changing his mind about the shirt he was about to wear _three_ times over before he actually left the hotel.

Never mind that they once tried to end each other’s lives! No, no, because what _really_ mattered now was what he should _wear_ tonight picking her up.

Sighing, he simply texted her, _On my way_, around 6:47.

She soon replied with: _Door’s open. Let yourself in whenever you arrive. _She quickly added: _No weapons, including poison, not allowed._

Merlin couldn’t help smirking, or to shake his head. And _that_ was typically her thing. Morgana would try to make fun of him. Make light of their irony — albeit very, _very_ sarcastically in tone.

* * *

The interior of her upscale flat was remarkable now that he can actually see for himself, and Henry wasn’t blocking his view. Everything was laid out in a scheme of shiny black surfaces, gold accents, and white ivory and stone framing. 

A thick glassy terrarium in the corner caught his eye last. Merlin peered closer and saw it was a home to a large cerulean tarantula, moving slowly yet gracefully, across the substrate tightly packed in.

“Miss Arachna.”

“Hm?” Merlin turned, finding Morgana wearing a little black skirt with black boots and a dark green blouse that complimented her eyes perfectly.

“Her name is Miss Arachna.” Morgana grabbed her dark wool jacket hanging loosely off her sofa nearby. “Cyriopagopus. The Cobalt Blue. Just gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Gwen didn’t like spiders,” Merlin recalled automatically, “especially the big ones.”

“Nobody likes them,” Morgana acknowledged, dryly. “It’s only because they fear what they can’t understand.”

“Well, as a manservant who cleaned everything, I never minded them. They are fascinating creatures, even though they do look frightening.”

After a considerable pause, Morgana piped up, “… Are we just going to chat about spiders all night, or _did_ you actually have plans for supper?”

“Yes, absolutely. Our reservation is in an hour— thought we could walk. I presume you wouldn’t mind German tonight?”

“No. That sounds fine.”

* * *

Merlin ordered the famous _Wienerschnitzel_ with lemon on the side, in flawless German. Morgana’s favorite was the traditional dumpling soup and _Sauerbraten_.

They discussed his failed not-marriage further, and her own journey as a new published novelist. She, in fact, stayed single for a long time from what he could gather — until recently, when Henry showed up, showing his interest on the downlow.

For dessert, they split a fresh large _Franzbrötchen, _specially added with a coat of chocolate icing and raisins on the inside.

“Are you still painting?” he wondered. 

“Only when I need to.”


End file.
